


Grouchy Glaring Grumbletonian

by i_write_sins_not_fanfictions



Series: FOUR MEN IN A CORNER AND ALL OF THEM FIT [1]
Category: Batman - All Media Types, DCU (Comics), Superman - All Media Types
Genre: Bruce Wayne likes disturbing a lot of people, How Do I Tag, Identity Porn, Like lots of it, M/M, Most of them are Clark Kent
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-07-23
Updated: 2018-07-23
Packaged: 2019-06-15 05:26:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15405966
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/i_write_sins_not_fanfictions/pseuds/i_write_sins_not_fanfictions
Summary: The problem with Clark Kent is that he is one and the same. Even when he tries, he is rarely out of character. Which wouldn’t be a problem if he didn’t meet someone who interacted with both Clark Kent and Superman. Perchance the world’s greatest detective? And if Batman notices anything, Bruce Wayne doesn’t say.Aka in which Bruce kisses Clark to get out of a sticky situation. (Ps-it doesn’t work) And Clark dwells on it a little longer than necessary.Aka Clark meets Bruce Wayne then Superman meets Batman, then Batman meets Clark Kent then Bruce Wayne meets Superman.





	Grouchy Glaring Grumbletonian

**Author's Note:**

> ‘I’d rather be a lover than a fighter, ‘cause all my life I’ve been fighting.’
> 
> Okay so I’m sitting up at three in the am, listening to acoustic covers of mainstream EDM in my underwear, hating on my shitty government for taxing social media because woo-hoo Uganda! And it just hits me how much silence by Marshmallow is such a super-bat theme song. Let’s ignore the fact that I project my superbat feels through every darn song I listen to. (The only argument I have in my head is ‘is it Bruce singing to Clark or Clark singing to Bruce) and this is such BRUCE song it almost hurts. So yes…this is literally the first time I’m writing in years…I have all these prompts in my head but ...yeeeeaaaaah…no excuse. So by the power of the insomiac goddess of all things yaoi…I’mma make a half-arsed attempt at my take on a song fic. If this shit doesn’t make sense, whoops! I’m making shit as I go along and listening to this song on repeat. Also identity porn. Literally the only canonically accurate thing in this fic is probably gonna be their first names…you have been warned. I do not own any of these characters and heaven knows that’s good because I wouldn’t know how to handle them.
> 
> Okay this is an edit. I wrote all that before I reached 8K words and actually strung up a bit of a plot accidentally. Of course. I hadn’t yet listened to the full Palo Santo Album by years and years either (that shit is beautiful and “All for you” is the new official theme song of this fanfic) Point is I’ve been writing this fanfic so long my government actually removed the shitty social media tax and I forgot why I was even writing in the first place. (Superbat is a given constant but Damn)  
> Set in my own universe where the JL has been formed but there’s no doomsday and Superman doesn’t die. Clark-centric because he’s a puppy and I adore him.

Clark Joseph Kent wasn’t easily phased. Except when he was. And this was one of those times-he thought. It was kind of like thinking of someone and that’s right when they walked into the room. Not entirely impossible. But quite rare and (usually) pleasant when it did actually happen. In Clark’s case he hadn’t exactly been thinking of Bruce Wayne when he all but waltzed into the room clouded in a vapid aura quite reminiscent  of that of a finely preened (insert name of really fancy dog-breed) He hadn’t been thinking of him at all. (It just felt like he had) If anything, Clark had been thinking that Lois was a treacherous partner who had ditched him in the midst of fancily clad gala-attendees. He had also been thinking that the South African rosé the waiter was handing out on finely brandished silver trays wasn’t half bad. Shame the stuff had no effect on him. He hadn’t been thinking of Bruce Wayne. And then all of a sudden…he was. Clark tried to make it not too obvious that he was eerily eyeing the Wayne heir from out the corner of his cerulean eyes. Then he figured it wouldn’t even matter because everyone was openly staring at Bruce Wayne anyway. If anything…he’d look odd for being the one guy peering into his half-empty wine glass with all the interest of a scientist peering through the lens of a microscope. And so he stared along with the rest, one ear keeping a listen out for Lois and whatever corrupt tycoon she had decided to corner that warm evening in Gotham. And so he stared…not because the Wayne heir was painfully handsome in a ruggedly refined manner, (It made sense in a weirdly oxymoronic manner, okay!) Wearing a teal hued suit that probably cost more than Clark’s apartment in Metropolis. The nerve of him to wear _teal_. With his super vision, if Clark squinted just a wee bit…he could see the faintest wisps of five-o’clock shadow on the strong jaw that belonged to Bruce Thomas Wayne. If he drew his vision out a bit…he could also see the dazzling grin that didn’t seem to _fit_ on said face. There was something off about the billionaire’s smile, and if it disturbed Clark more that it should have…well then more fool him. Clark internally cussed and took a more than generous swallow of his wine. He was here as Lois’ plus one for the night, but figured he could turn the event into an investigative opportunity. There was an arms dealing ring branching out in Metropolis, whose roots, as far as he could tell were also deep in Gotham. Because Gotham. He’d addressed his concerns with his team mate and co-founder of the Justice League, the protector of Gotham City…The Bat, only to be cruelly rebutted in that gruff computerized monotone. _‘Stay out of Gotham_ ’ At least this time he got more than two syllables out of the man, so hurrah for small victories. Clark was unwilling to back down without the proverbial fight, yet he knew better than to aggravate the pragmatic tactician. He’d found a loophole that wasn’t really a loophole but made him feel giddily intelligent by calling it a loophole so a loophole it was. Batman had told Superman to stay out of Gotham. If a completely random journalist wandered into the underbelly of Gotham’s crime one random night gathering information…who was Batman to delegate? And Clark felt rather clever indeed. So he smiled. It also helped that the gala was coincidentally hosted by Bruno Mannheim. One of the rumored financiers of the Gotham-Metropolis arms ring. If he could dig up anything on Bruno without raising alarm, Clark Kent was just the man and this gala was the perfect opportunity. Clark _knew_ Bruno was up to no good. He’d gotten off with a mere slap of the wrist from the decades old toy factory incident while Winslow Schott Sr. had taken the fall for the intergang numbers racket. And here Bruno was, years later, suddenly trying to kiss-up to the citizens of Metropolis and Gotham with his weird ass charity fundraising galas. Clark knew he could trust him just about as far as someone really weak could throw him. Not Superman. Superman would throw him to the sun if it came to that.

By some weird pseudo-magnetic pull Clark found his eyes being drawn across the room again. Found them parting the expensively dressed crowds. Found them landing on one aforementioned face. Bruce Wayne’s lividly cold ice blue gaze pierced through Clark as though in response to his subtle scrutiny. Coincidence. Then the man honest to God smirked. Only one known living human being was able to rattle Clark to the core in the same manner that he was in that momentary instant. And Clark wasn’t even _sure_ if the Gotham bat _was_ entirely human. Yet there he was, imagining the sensation of microscopic toe tips dancing on the hairs of his arm…because a rich air-head had smirked at him. No. Not at him actually. In his _general direction_. Clark Joseph Kent wasn’t easily phased.

Clark uselessly rationalized in his head. It was just a smile. It was just a smile. Except the fact that he was desperately seeking purchase made him realize just how irrational his sudden ~~obsession with~~ interest in Bruce Wayne’s mouth area was. But his hunches were never wrong. Perhaps it was because of the supposed business ties Wayne enterprises had with Mannheim. If Manheim was indeed into shady arms dealing, then perhaps Bruce Wayne was in on it. Yeah. That was probably it. That was probably the source of his mistrust and discomfort. Maybe if he interviewed Wayne, he’d put it all to rest.

Clark’s opportunity came much sooner than he anticipated. He’d resigned himself to the fate of a fruitless gala (not that there had been any particular fruits he’d planned on reaping) and opted to find Lois to inform her that he was going out for a quick walk about town to get some air. No one in their sanest left Gotham’s fall event of the year for something as trivial and mundane as _air._ She’d understand what he really meant. It wasn’t particularly a feat identifying the buxom redhead in the small crowd. She was the only one who never carried an air of self-righteousness. Well her and Wayne, but Clark was unwilling to dwell on the latter. Clad in a form fitting rose dress suit that beautifully set off her eyes, she turned furtively with a glare akin to that of Medusa. Her look only softened when she realized that it was in fact Clark who has tapped her on the shoulder. Mr. Carlswick (Ah. So that’s who she was harassing) too turned in Clark’s direction with a look. But his was more of unmasked relief. In fact the renowned businessman begun to make a break for it when Lois- without turning to look at him-pressed a brief but firm grasp on his shoulder. It was at the very _least_ warning. ‘Now Mr. C. I believe we had matters we are still discussing?’ Rhetoric. And Clark instantly felt pity for the man. Of course the constant was that if Lois purposely made someone this uncomfortable, then they were undeserving of any pity to begin with. Sometimes she scared him. Lois did.

‘Oh. Hey Smallville. What was so urgent that you just _had_ to interrupt my interview?’

There was a small smile at the corner of her pursed lips, painted scarlet. She was probably all but snarling on the inside. Mr. Carlswik looked like a trapped rodent, but at least he’d stopped trying to escape.

‘I...I- just…’ with Lois, the bamboozled and flustered demeanor was rarely an act. In fact Clark barely understood how he could be both intimidated and fiercely attracted to a human being. Of course the former could be because of the latter, and vice versa. He’d gotten better at the whole not being a complete uncultured mess the closer they’d become and now that she knew of his _other_ identity, and they were dating, she just figured he was a really good actor. But Clark wasn’t acting. Heavens knew Lois Lane could put the fear of God in a man.

‘I don’t have all evening?’

And Clark was going to answer her. He really was, but-

‘THERE’S MY FAVOURITE EMPLOYEE!’    Bruce. Wayne.

Clark found himself cringing as he turned in the billionaire’s direction. Wayne was smiling excitedly in Lois’ direction, looking quite the puppy as he threw the bulk of his physique into hugging the visibly chagrined woman. For one, Mr. Carlswick was now actively trying to inch away from the trio. But Lois hugged back nonetheless. Clark suppressed his irrational jealousy and possessiveness as his eyes met Bruce’s from behind the hug. And he _smirked._ Again.

‘And who might _you_ be?’ He said as he released Lois from his over-bearing embrace.

‘Yeah-yeah that’s real nice.’ Lois blanched, sounding the complete opposite of. ‘You two get to know each other and I’ll…’ She didn’t even finish her statement. Mr. C was at the champagne table across the hall.

When Clark turned back, Bruce’s hand was still outstretched with a matching bemused look to boot. Clark took it. Wayne’s hand was surprisingly rough and calloused for a man who led a life so…pampered.

‘Clark Kent. Daily planet.’ He automatically recited.

‘Oh. So you’re mine.’

That shouldn’t have made Clark blush. Seethe? Maybe. Cringe…definitely, more so with the added leer that Bruce seemed to punctuate all his phrases with. But it shouldn’t have made him _blush_. He awkwardly adjusted his square rimmed frames.

‘Uh. What? Mr. Wayne I have no idea what kind of impression-’

‘You work for me. Daily Planet. Metropolis? No?’

And Clark felt pretty stupid indeed. He kept silent.

‘Perry sure knows how to pick ‘em’ Bruce hummed into his lower lip. Clark had to remind himself that he was the one with X-ray vision. Not Bruce.

‘Right. Right. Mr. Wayne.’

‘Please, call me Brucie.’ Clark sighed. Well if he was going to have to interact with this giant dolt at the very least he was going to damn well get something out of it.

‘Brucie…’

‘See, don’t you just like how that feels on your tongue?’

Was everything this man said a God-damn **innuendo**? He honestly seemed harmless. But then again…so had Alexander Luthor Jr. at some point in time.

‘Is it…okay with you if I ask some questions? Sorta like an impromptu interview.’

‘Oh. Absolutely anything for one of mine.’ The billionaire sweetly piped. Jesus.

‘It’s in association to your recent business partnership with Bruno Mannheim.’

And just like that, Bruce’s clear ice-blue irises turned icier _if that were a thing._ Clark instantly knew he was sitting on something.

‘Jeez, Clyde. Really? Such a droll topic? I’mma let you in on a secret, kay? My assistant, Fox, usually assigns someone to write to me the answers for these boring type interviews. I don’t really _do_ this kind of…stuff. And here I was thinking you were gonna ask me something worthwhile. The truth behind the Aspen fiasco?’ Bruce tapered off his rant with smatterings of bemused laughter.

Clark was in absolute shock had Wayne’s expression actually hardened at the thought of answering to his own business ventures? Gad. Or had it hardened at the thought of answering to his own business ventures with Bruno Mannheim. Or had Clark imagine the whole thing?

‘Actually no. That’s society and lifestyle. Miss. Grant covers that kind of stuff. I’m sorry if I forgot to mention, I’m an investigative reporter.’

‘Shame. Well do you still want to hear about the Aspen fiasco? Of course you do. Now this is the one of August, not to be mistaken with my little…er…mishap last December. So now most people would say that I am in fact to blame for model Niki Blanchett breaking off her engagement to her fiancé. Most people are right. But not entirely…’

‘No I don’t not wish to hear about the Aspen fiasco.’ Clark sighed to himself. Then loudly. ‘I am an INVESTIGATIVE reporter, Mr. Wayne’

‘Brucie. Please Clinton, call me Brucie. Aaaand I agree with you whole heartedly, we’re investigating what _really_ happened that evening in Aspen.’

Jesus Christ.

Clark was still internally debating as to whether he should push on or quickly extricate himself from what was turning out to be a fiasco of an interview when it happened. He heard the gunshots before they happened. The raspy metal clicking as the trigger was pulled back. With so much going on around, he’d trained himself to zero down on particular sounds. Guns, screams, heartbeats; Like Ma’s and Lois’. Wonder Woman was too up and about for Clark to constantly trace, and sometimes, when she visited Themyscira there was no trace of it at all. That was the same for most of the leaguers. The cyborg _had_ no heartbeat. He’d tried listening in on Batman’s but the paranoid vigilante had some sort of modulator that masked and or regulated his anatomical functions to the outside listener. Of. Fucking. Course.

And currently, there was a damn shooting less than a hundred meters from the party. Clark- Superman- needed to leave. And fast. He didn’t know just how to ditch Bruce Wayne whose firm grasp was casually between his left shoulder and collar bone.

It was surprisingly Bruce who let him go at last.

Two gun shots resounded in the air, much to the screams and panic and “what’s going on?s” of the party goers. They spoke at the same time.

_‘Hey, can I just visit the bathroom real q-‘_

_‘Listen Chris. It’s not that you’re boring me, but I need to-‘_

Bruce recovered quicker.

‘Sure thing, kid. Go to the bathroom. I’ll be here waiting just for you. Right. Here.’

And that wasn’t suspicious at all.

Clark entered the bathroom stall but Superman got out of it. After safely stashing his clothes on a rooftop, he nose-dived to the general direction of the scene of the crime in a flash, scanning the area using his X-ray vision. Turned out the shooting had been done even closer than he’d fathomed. It was in a sort of protrusion of a nearby building, at the south end in what looked like some sort of warehouse. Perched on the roof and looking in, Clark could ably identify one two three four thugs moving about and a fifth one lying motionless on the ground. Unless there were extra lead coated goons in the building, then that had to be it. Nothing Superman couldn’t handle. He took a quick breather and jumping, speared feet first through the corrugated iron of the roof; landing in what he hoped was a heroically intimidating gesture.

‘Are you going to surrender or do you want to fight _then_ surren-’

Clark had to pause (mid heroic taunt) to catch a bullet that had been fired at him from behind. The frightened look on the goon’s face when Superman finally pivoted to face him was almost worth being nearly shot for.

‘I guess that answers that question.’

Superman fought.

Three of the men put up a “valiant” fight. Clark mused as he weaved out of harm’s way and grabbed a man’s hand, who was attempting to stab him. (Not that that would have achieved much) The knife skittered out of his grasp as he flew across the room and landed face first into a mountain of crates that consequently toppled over him. One man, seemingly the wisest of them all, was cowered in a corner scared shitless. “At least he’d have no physical injuries” superman absent mindedly thought as he leapt into the air to avoid two incoming attacks. He grabbed the two men by the back of their collars before driving their heads together with enough impact to knock them out but do no further grievous harm. That out of the way, he figured it best to check on the injured man (the one _he_ hadn’t injured) before calling in the Gotham PD- if they hadn’t already gotten the memo. Superman crouched low and stretched a spotless hand to the man’s neck. He’d visibly been shot twice. Once in the leg and the other in the general abdominal area, towards his left flank. He seemed unconscious. Not dead. If only there was a way to stem the blee-

A heavy weight collapsed on the back of Clark’s head. He’d taken rubble from buildings, metal from weird alien artifacts and yet here he was, feeling his skull give way to the pressure from whatever the hell had just struck him. The blow would have killed any other person on spot. Clark teetered on the edge of surrealism as white spots danced behind his lids. And when he finally opened his eyes, he saw the thug making a run for it through what looked like a garage door that wasn’t open minutes prior. It was the other guy, the one who’d been immobile for most of the struggle. Clark almost laughed at his futile attempt to get off scot-free. He waited painfully as the material of his cranium begun to knit itself back together enough for him to stand. He’d easily catch the man in six seconds. Max. Except he didn’t have to.

From out the black like some sort of hellish angel, a dark figure descended upon the thug. His cape flared out and silhouetted against the night sky in the shape of a bat. He kicked the thug to the side of the wall. Said thug seemed to think that Batman was somehow more vulnerable to bullets, and so he whipped out a pistol, fingers gingerly scrambling for the trigger. Superman recognized that raspy metal grating. He’s the one who fired in the first place. Batman merely grasped his wrist and twisted the weapon out of his hold, quick as you please, before pointing it square in the face of its former owner. The thugs eyes widened in alarm. The Gotham bat flipped the gun in the air and caught it by the barrel before tilting his head in what Superman would think were the vigilante equivalent of a smirk. He knocked the thug out cold using the butt of the gun. Unconscious. At least Clark hoped so.

‘Is he-’ he asked wearily as rubbed the back of his head that seemed for the most part, back to normal.

‘Unconscious? Yes’ The bat sauntered into the warehouse before stopping two feet short of the man who had been shot. ‘Is he-’

‘Alive?’ Superman listened in for a pulse. It was weak, faint, but there. ‘Yeah, but barely.’ He said.

‘Hm…’ Batman eyed the situation wearily through white infrared lenses. In one deft motion he knelt down to check on the man, applying pressure on the injured part and elevating his leg.

‘What are you doing here?’ he growled. Well he wasn’t talking to the unconscious man that was for sure.

What _was_ he doing there? Clark knew there were so many sarcastic answers he could give _. Gee, idk batsy…just chilling with some villains? Breathing? Taking tea…you?_

But Superman’s modus operandi wasn’t truth, justice and the sarcastic way. He wasn’t dumb and knew exactly what the Gothamite meant. What was he doing in _Gotham?_

‘I was in the area?’ he didn’t even sound like he believed himself.

‘Right.’

‘I can clean up here and you take him to the ER?’ Clark almost added “if you want” but his phrasing in itself came out like a question already. Let alone a request for permission. He graciously offered none the less. He didn’t know why, but whenever he was in the presence of the other, he had a pressing desire to prove himself. Probably because Batman was the only know living creature in existence that wasn’t particularly cowed by Superman’s “marvelous” being. Most, if not all people were. They worshipped him. Revered him. Feared him. Adored him. Heck-they hated him. If Batman felt anything at all, his pragmatic analysis had deemed it inconsequential so long as Superman did not get in his way. Superman on the other hand, because he was Clark, wanted in on whatever enigmatic realization lay behind the pointy eared cowl. He’d been tempted more than once to take a peek behind the mask until two things hit him. Even if Batman wouldn’t fuck him up, right to the sun and back, he’d probably have in place a measure to regulate X-ray vision possessing peeping Toms. And then he’d been so curious he’d wanted to use his X-ray vision to prove that Batman had in fact put in place something to hinder his X-ray vision. He’d been really tetchy for weeks pending the newly formed Justice League that the Bat had just had mercy and called him out on his bullshit.

_‘Out with it Boy-scout.’_

_‘I swear there’s nothing-‘_

_‘I’m giving you a get out of jail card here. Now out with it.’_

_‘Is your head pointy bat-thing-’_

_‘It’s a cowl.’_

_‘Is your cowl lead lined?’_

_‘Yes.’_

That had been the first time Superman had witness Batman morose albeit close to bursting out into a fit of laughter- as much as you could see from a man whose only visible parts were his mouth and jaw, anyway.

It was very disconcerting indeed.

Somewhere in between his nostalgic reverie, Batman had crouched low next to the injured man and was applying measured pressure to his flank after taking care to cut away the cloth covering that area. He did this while consequently checking at his jugular for a pulse. He’d whipped out a strip of gauze from Rao knew where and it was tied across the leg would to stem the bleeding while he dealt with the abdominal area. The gauze was once white but thanks to the bullet wound seeping through it now reminded Superman faintly, _stupidly_ of the Japanese flag.

‘Are you even listening?’ Batman growled in his low automated monotone.

‘Y-yeah?’ And Clark’s sure he rolled his eyes behind his head pointy-cowl. Behind his cowl.

‘I **said** , it’s only more convenient for me to drop the perps in and you take him to the E.R. In the time that I could have made a makeshift tourniquet for his leg, you’d be able to fly him to the hospital. But maintain a slight pressure on the flank wound and keep his lower half elevated to…’

Clark tried his best not to look blank.

Batman tried his best not to look frustrated-and failed. But Clark suspected he wasn’t trying very hard.

‘Ugh. Like this!’ Bruce motioned with a sway of his head for Clark to crouch down and learn how to keep the rest of the man’s blood in his body. He finally got the hand of things, but was still scowling in un-amusement. For all his seeking of approval he hadn’t failed, but he didn’t feel particularly successful either.

‘What’s the matter?’

‘…’

‘Superman?’ the bat tried once more, exasperatedly at that.

‘It’s just that…you don’t have to be such a …..Grouchy glaring grumbleton all the time!’

At first it started as a slow chuckle that made Superman fear that the dark knight was in the first stages of having a seizure. In all fairness to Clark, the Bat’s mouth was curved upwards in a _grin_ which was entirely new. And then he was laughing. The Goddam Batman was actually laughing.

‘Something funny, B?’

‘Did you just? Did you…God! Someone…s-someone is bleeding to death in our arms and you...you have the nerve to call me a grumb…grumb – a- Lord …how _old_ are you?’

A tiny crackling voice prickled from Batman’s earpiece. He didn’t stop laughing. He was settled on the ball of his heels with the back of one bloody hand resting above his mouth. He had very nice teeth.

 _‘Master...’_ the voice went. _‘I’m glad you’re having a merry old time but indeed there is a man bleeding to death before you.’_ It had a foreign lilt to it…British?

Batman gave the tiny voice no audible response but seemingly paid heed because he finally stopped laughing. That was until his eyes landed on a very miffed Superman again.

‘Get out of here and fly carefully.’ He managed to utter mid chuckle.

Clark rolled his eyes it. There was nothing even remotely funny about the situation. Batman’s sense of humor must be like him…twisted, Clark thought. Either way, despite his embarrassment, he was secretly glad he’d made Batman laugh be it at the cost of his dignity. No, he hadn’t won, but he hadn’t exactly lost either.

With the injured man in his grasp, he gently begun to lift off.

‘The closest medical center is just two blocks away, the St. Agnes Goodwill hospital down Bowling Avenue. I’ll give the cops the coordinates.’

Superman managed a flat thanks as the Bat busied himself getting extra zip ties to restrain the criminals and have them hand delivered to Gordon’s doorstep.

‘Oh and Superman?’

‘Yeah?’

‘Stay out of Gotham.’

Really. REALLY? Clark seethed. Not so much as a thank you. The Bat was a screwy ingrate Clark decided. Yet as he drifted higher in the atmosphere he kept a listen in for even the slightest strains of laughter from the Bat.

_‘Oh yeah, and Batman, I ran the algorithms you enjoined and your guess was as good as the truth. The building is indeed owned by Mr. Mannheim.’_

_‘Thank you, Al._ ’

The accent _was_ British.

Superman was in such a daze he even forgot and initially flew _past_ the hospital. Luckily the guy was still respiring when Superman finally handed him over to the medics. Atleast he _hoped_ so.

When Clark got back to the gala hall, the MC was trying her best to calm down the crowds who for the most part were still alarmed. It only got worse when one woman yelled.

‘Bruce Wayne is missing!’

Which was true. But Clark didn’t think it warranted all the panic and hullaballoo that followed after. He honestly couldn’t have brought himself to care even if he tried to. But then there was the fact that Wayne had gone out of his way to mention that he’d be there when Clark got back from the “bathroom” which shouldn’t have been a serious pointer except for Batman’s findings. Perhaps Bruce Wayne mightn’t have had the intention of waiting for a disheveled reporter to return from the bathroom **but** the building did in fact belong to Mannheim and Bruce was Mannheim’s partner. What if he’d heard the gun-shots and disappeared because he’d left to make sure his deal hadn’t gone-

‘I’m here! Jeez, can’t a guy take a wiz without being hustled.’

And indeed he was, majestically waltzing out from the direction of the men’s room. But Clark didn’t remember any one being the direction of the bathrooms when he got back. There was no one. No?

And yet Bruce defied all paranoid logic as he breezily picked up a flute of champagne from a passing waiter and sauntered to the floor with the rest of them.

‘I definitely wasn’t hiding from the gunshots in the bathroom.’ He beamed loudly at the small mob that was till crushing him, and, like prompted laughter on the set of a talk-show, they laughed in turn.

The gala continued fairly unhitched after an announcement that the Gotham Police had in fact secured the area and secured the unruly miscreants before any serious harm could be done.

No mentions of the Gotham Bat.

Just as he would have liked it to be.

But still, Bruce. Clark couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling that the billionaire was hiding some giant secret that was relevant to the whole mystery.

He wasn’t as bare-faced as everyone was so apt to believe. His heartbeat from across the room, for someone who had just walked out of the bathroom, was a jack hammer.

Even if Clark could actually gather the balls to approach Wayne again, he wouldn’t know what questions to ask. So he just settled for watching from afar.

Watching from a far as the billionaire shamelessly flirted with a beautiful African lady clad in red and gold, presumably a model (another one)

Watching from afar as he discarded her affections and weaved a little too close to the walls for comfort.

Watched as he made for a small side door behind the heavy beige curtains that Clark hadn’t even known existed prior.

And it was all at once shocking but not surprising. Clark wanted to pause for a moment and revel in the victory of _knowing_ Bruce Wayne was up to something. But he knew he had to follow the man, and so he made to cross the room when he was intercepted by a tap on his shoulder. It was his turn to look unamused until he noticed that it was actually Lois.

‘Hey. You okay?’

‘Why wouldn’t I be?’

And she gave him a look. That look. The one that meant she was worried about superman, because Lois was just that kind of woman.

‘It was just a few gun-shots. I’m glad the cops arrived in time to secure the area.’ He beamed.

Her beautiful face turned up to his with a re-assuring smile _but he was already pulling away to go after Bruce_.

The door was as inconspicuous as it was unguarded and Clark slipped easily through, unnoticed for the most part. It was much dimmer inside with a sudden break in the floor that turned out to be the top of a loooooong flight of narrow stairs. Clark almost tumbled down head-first and had to use a little flight to cheat his way out of that one. He floated the rest of the way down until he could hear Bruce’s breathing a mere meters away. He sounded to be fidgeting with bits of plastic and metal that beeped in time with his equally erratic heartbeat. What was he doing? Clark took a slight peek. The whole wall past the stairs seemed to be made up of some kind of giant super computer. Which was as best Clark could describe it without sounding silly. It looked like rows of cabinets, yet instead of drawers, there were mini VCR like forms carved out of a steel looking substance, one of which Bruce had jammed a sleek looking flash disc into and was hastily transferring data, probably from the device to the flash. He was stealing data!? Clark lightly exhaled a breath he never even knew he was holding in the first place. Nothing about the situation at hand made sense. Bruce impatiently glanced at his time piece, at the machine, at his time piece, and then right at the spot where Clark was “hiding”.  Clark leaned back in one swift motion but he was no master at espionage. And no amount of profanities could adequately capture the panic that set his innards ablaze when the billionaire begun walking towards the stair case at a rather blasé pace that was almost menacing. It was times like that that made Clark wish he could trade in his laser eyes for invisibility. His mental vocab had been reduced to a litany of how? How? HOW??? SHIT FUCK SHIT FUCK SHIT. Suddenly, he didn’t have to worry about Bruce Wayne anymore, because he heard the door above the stairs slam shut by someone who clearly didn’t care whether they were seen entering or not. Clark leapt into the open space at the landing of the stairs with a sheepish grin.

‘You.’ The effort Bruce put into sounding indifferent was truly remarkable. Clark felt he could make even Batman jealous.

‘Me. What are you doing down here?’ Clark smarted.

‘Boy, you sure take this investigative reporter thing too seriously. No matter now. Someone’s coming…Someone _else_ anyway’

The foot-falls down the stairs indeed got heavier.

‘We’d better have a good explanation for being down here!’

‘We?’ Bruce almost laughed. ‘Sweetie I’m Bruce Wayne.’

‘And _I_ followed _you_ down here. I’m sure you wouldn’t want your precious business partner to know that you were stealing his files just now.’

Bruce narrowed his steely gaze. ‘Blackmail? I’m almost impressed.’

The whispering did nothing to still the hostility in their voices.

‘I aim to please.’ Clark glared right back. His open gaze a challenge. Because now was as good a time to drop tense come-ons as ever.

_‘I KNOW YOU’RE DOWN THERE!!!’_

‘Shit.’ The two men chorused.

‘Clarence, right?’ Bruce pointed at Clark pseudo-quizzically as he closed the two feet gap between them.

‘Clark. Actually. But I guess you don’t really care.’

‘You guess correctly.’ Bruce advanced. There was a mere two inches between the two men as Bruce lifted Clark’s left arm and drew it across his waist. He placed his own right hand on Clark’s shoulder and pulled him close so that they were literally joined at every part but the face.

‘U-um, Mr. Wayne?’

‘Follow my lead and we may just make it out of here in one piece.’

Bruce crushed his mouth against Clark’s.

 

 

Clark Joseph Kent was only sixteen years old when he’s discovered the ability of flight. He’d had Lana for dinner after she’d stayed over from returning some tools to ‘Pa Kent. They were in the barn fussing over a ginger tabby cat that had taken permanent residence there when Lana had piped up. _“Speaking of cute things”_ she’d said. And they’d kissed. It was just a simple peck on the lips. But it was enough to send Martha Kent into a frightful panic when she went to Clark’s room to wish him a good night, and found him blissfully defying gravity. His eyes closed.

When the hoopla in the Kent household had died down a bit and Clark had mastered this new power just a little better, Martha warned him to refrain from doing it so oft. But Clark loved to fly in the open Kansan skies, especially during summer when the nights were warm and the heavens cloudless. It was dangerous and he could get hurt. Or worse, someone could see him. But something in Clark knew it was beyond him. The rush of air’s embrace, however _wrong_ or _dangerous_ , was addictive.

 

That was about as best as he could equate kissing Bruce Wayne. His kisses were nothing like Lana’s. The man kissed liked he talked. Quick, playful…heated. No. They were nothing like Lana’s. It was actually more of the euphoric rush that came after, so akin to a dangerous flight, that brought that old situation to mind. Somewhere somehow at the back of his mind, Clark Kent understood why they were doing this. He didn’t seem to care anyway. Which shouldn’t have been a problem because Bruce would have grabbed and kissed him anyway. Except it was, a problem, that is. It was a problem how skillfully he tangled his fingers in dark hair that wasn’t his own. How he never seemed to run out of air yet Clark was the superhuman one of the two. And it was wrong and it was dangerous. Someone could see him, he could get hurt…. But it was hard to rationalize with Bruce Wayne’s tongue licking the roof of one’s mouth.

Bruce made a sound that was almost a snarl as he pulled back. With an almost childish grin. Because Clark’s eyes were still closed, still seeking purchase in the dark. And Bruce gave it to him. This time the kiss was slow and measured. Bruce pressed soft champagne tinged lips on Clark’s own full ones, before tilting his head to the left. He gently implored the Kryptonian to grant him entrance before all but devouring him from the inside out. His tongue, wet and heavy with something that wasn’t quite lust hungrily dove in and Clark met him with equal fervor. Tongues twining and saliva mixing in a heady battle for dominance that would never be won, Atleast not that evening.

 _‘What the fuck?’_ The intruder went.

Clark and Bruce didn’t stop. Probably because they genuinely didn’t hear him. Probably. And if telling himself he needed support was excuse enough for Clark’s hands to travel south along Bruce Wayne’s spine, then he damn well needed that support. His hand came to a stop atop the muscular swell of Bruce’s arse, only separated from the warm flesh beneath by the material of a Louis Vuitton teal suit. If he tugged Bruce any closer, the man would be all but inside him. Not that he’d particularly mind with the things Bruce’s teeth were doing to his lower lip.

_‘Ahem!’_

The two men sprang apart in mock surprise. The lust wasn’t that pretentious. Neither was the warm blush on Clark’s face.

 It was a security guard clad in all black with a radio in his right grasp.

‘A little privacy?’ Bruce Wayne cockily tilted his head to one side.

‘This area is restricted, Mr. Wayne.’

‘Well I couldn’t very well _fuck_ him in the middle of a hall full of people, now could I? I mean I could but…decorum’

‘ _Bruce_ ’ Clark squeaked behind him.

‘I’m sure you could have held out.’ The guard dead-panned.

Bruce openly gawked at Clark with a leer on his face and a pretentious air of speculation. He placed two fingers to his lower lip in “thought” before finally shaking his head slowly from side to side.

‘Um. No. I couldn’t’

‘If we weren’t supposed to be down here, why wasn’t the door locked?’ Clark reasoned.

‘It _was_ locked Mr…’ The guard held out for Clark’s name but Clark was too busy staring at Bruce Wayne in a whole new light. The door had been locked? Really? Then that meant that a pampered “imbecile” like Bruce broke in. Just how many layers were there to the man?

Bruce on the other hand nonchalantly whistled as though he being caught in an out of bounds computer room with his tongue down a reporters throat was Tuesday for him. He turned and answered the guards query.

‘Oh him? Collin? He’s mine.’

The guard seemed completely unimpressed with Bruce’s antics. He spoke into his radio.

‘The breach wasn’t a false alarm. I found two fags down here and you’re not gonna believe who.’

Clark scowled in distaste at the man’s homophobic language. He made a mental note to scare the shit out of him when he finally broke loose.

‘I take them to the containment chamber? Anha? Mannheim’ll deal with them after the gala? Right. Right’ He switched off the radio and directly addressed the two directly.

‘I’m gonna need you to follow me.’

If Clark wasn’t panicking before, he was now. Were he alone, he’d easily knock this guy out and disappear. However he couldn’t use his super powers lest Bruce Wayne who wasn’t such an idiot after all noticed him and raised certain questions whose answers he was unwilling to divulge.

‘Just one more thing?’ Bruce raised an index figure.

‘What?’ The guard glared.

Bruce smiled and pushed Clark up against the computer wall again. He was more of smashing his mouth against Clark’s own as opposed to kissing. Clark understood why when he felt a strong hand wind behind him and subtly plug the flash disc out of the computer drive and slip it into safe pockets.

‘That was it?’ The guard blanched, pulling out a gun and herding the two men down the row of computers and through a corridor.

‘Where are you taking us!?’ Clark asked.

‘Seriously though, he has a point, where are you taking us, I’m supposed to give a speech in like…fifteen minutes.’

‘Should’a thought about that before you broke in.’

‘You heard the kid,’ Bruce argued. ‘It was open.’

Clark could tell he wasn’t lying, but it wasn’t the truth. Bruce Wayne definitely broke in. To what ends? Only God knew.

 

 

 

The containment chamber turned out to be a (formerly) empty dank cell with a huge metallic door and only a small window reinforced with iron bars to let the light from Gotham’s night life entrance in the form of vertical stripes across the grimy wooden table at the center. There were no chairs so Clark leaned against one of the concrete walls while Bruce sat atop said table. Bruce didn’t look particularly concerned. He busied himself detaching a set keys from an **Angry Birds’ TM** key-chain that was basically a red rubber ball with eyes and a beak.

Clark had to figure out a way to-

_Squeak_

Clark had-

_Squeak_

Clark had to fig-

Cla-

_Squeak_

_Squeak_

_Squeak_

‘COULD YOU STOP THAT!?!’  Clark threw his arms up in the air.

Bruce merely gave Clark a glance that was bored at best and disgusted at worst before he went back to compressing and releasing his new made toy. Clark wanted to incinerate the key chain to ashes.

‘Nope!’ _Squeak. Squeak. Squeeeeeeaaaakkkk._

‘OKAY WHAT IS UP WITH YOU!?’ Clark snapped. He marched over to stand facing Bruce directly, and was rewarded for his troubles with a hooded look and one more squeak of the key-chain.

‘Whatever could you mean?’

‘Well for one you’re a stuck up imbecile. Tonight alone, you’ve managed to call me by every C-name on the planet _except_ my actual name. But your annoyance with me is personal, so it’s irrelevant to the fate of innocents. But you’re going around fraternizing with the likes of Bruno Mannheim even if-‘

‘Even if what, Carlos. Even if he is a former criminal? Everyone deserves a second chance.’

Clark exhaled through his nostrils.

‘He tried to kill me!-Me- Metropolis’ hero. Superman.’

‘And this is Gotham, son. Money doesn’t discriminate. Besides, aren’t we all just criminals, just at varying degrees?’

‘The fuck! No- ‘   ‘language _, Chris’_ ‘Crime is CRIME! And that’s CLARK TO YOU MR. WAYNE!!!’

‘I’m sure Bruno had his reasons.’

‘Of course you are. But that’s not even the half of it. I wouldn’t particularly mind if he were a former criminal as opposed to the fact that he were _still_ a criminal. Remember Intergang? Bruce? It’s growing again. This time Mannheim’s involving Gotham as well right from the root, merging with gangs like Leviathan…There’s an arms dealing ring too-‘

Clark stopped talking when he saw the shock on Bruce’s face. Great. He’d gone and done it. He’d exposed just how much he knew about Bruno’s business dealings to someone who might very well be in on the plans. All that remained was for him to pretend to get hurt when Mannheim’s thugs beat him up until (hopefully), Batman came to his rescue.

SQUEEEEEAAAAAAKKKKK

‘Gimmie that!’ Clark lunged for the squeaky toy, wrestling it from Bruce successfully.

‘Jeez, you’re pretty strong for a reporter.’ Bruce rubbed his knuckles whilst eyeing Clark wearily.

‘Yeah well…you were being annoying. Also you’re not getting this back.’

‘I’d be careful with that if I were you…’ Bruce ruefully referred to the careless manner in which Clark dangled the keychain from his pinky finger.

‘What? Rich spoiled brat need his squeaky toy? Oops!’ Clark angrily teased before letting it “accidentally” slip from his grasp.

What he wasn’t expecting was for it to explode into a huge cloud of smoke much to Bruce’s annoyance.

‘So that happened.’ Bruce said, settling back down on the table.

‘It was a bomb. It was a fucking-‘

‘Explosive. Interesting, no? Who knew?’

‘What ARE you?!’

‘Bored. We should probably work on getting out…’

‘I’m just gonna come right out and say it. Are you a spy?’

‘…of here before the gala ends. I’m not in a particularly explanatory mood. This isn’t the kind of PR disaster my team is prepared for.’

‘Jesus Christ, Mr. Wayne. You had that in your pocket!’

‘You’re very useless in emergency situations you know that.’

Clark almost laughed at the bitter irony of the situation. But Wayne had a point. In the time they’d spent bickering he could have actually distracted the billionaire enough to forge an exit. But the man made it near impossible _not_ to bicker.

‘Short of walking around with smoke bombs, I don’t see you being particularly useful either!’

‘If my memory serves me correctly I’m not the one who got us in this mess in the first place!’

‘You’re the one who broke in!’

‘Did I ASK you to follow me!?’

‘You should be thankful I was there to give you an alibi!!’

‘I WOULD HAVE MANAGED JUST FINE WITHOUT YOU ANYWAY!?

‘LEMMIE GUESS. YOU’D PRETEND YOU WERE LOOKING FOR THE BATHROOM AND MADE A FAUX PASS DOWN A LOCKED DOOR AND FLIGHT OF SUPER SECRET STAIRS?!’

‘YOU’D BE SURPRISED THE THINGS PEOPLE ARE WILLING TO BELIEVE!’

‘TRUST ME. NOT SO MUCH. LIKE THE FACT THAT YOU ARE SOME SORT OF BENEVOLENT SOCIETY PUPPY WHO DESERVES ADORATION BECAUSE OF A TRAGIC PAST. YOU ACT LIKE IT’S A GET OUT OF JAIL CARD TO BE AN ABSOLUTE DOUCHE BAG YET YOU’RE A GENUINELY SHITTY AND ENTITLED PRICK. DEAD PARENTS OR NOT!’

They stopped yelling.

‘I’m…I’m sorry. Mr. Wayne, that was out of line…’

Bruce’s mouth had hardened into a thin unwavering line. His face a blank mask.

‘Bruce I’m _sorry_. I got angry and frustrated and I said things which were …ugh I’m a horrible per-

‘No.’ Bruce sighed and smiled. ‘You’re right.’

‘Mr. Wayne…’

‘I SAID SHUT UP!’

‘Actually you never…you know what I’ll just shut up and resign myself to the fact that _everyone_ I try to work with tonight is going to be a **grouchy glaring grumbletonian**.’

‘What did you just say?’ The shock on Bruce’s face looked pretty genuine.

‘I’m sorry. I’ll be quiet.’

‘No-no what did you just say…right now?!’

‘…’

‘Clark?’

‘I said you never actually told me to shut up.’

‘No after that, the thing about the glaring grou-‘  Bruce looked like he was torn between bursting out laughing and breaking down crying  as he frantically waved one hand in the air.

‘Grouchy Glaring Grumbletonian? Oh no not you too. It’s just a phrase okay?!’

‘Clark.’ Bruce face-palmed in some sort of personal realization. ‘Clark. Clark Kent.’ He seemed genuinely distraught.

‘Yes. That’s my name. _Finally_. Bruce are you okay?’

Because the billionaire was staring up at Clarks face in shock and disbelief. He stretched out a hand as though he’d wanted to touch Clark’s face- then thought well about it.

Bruce burst out laughing at nothing in particular in sporadic fits that had Clark very unnerved.

‘What the hell was in that smoke?’

‘I’m an idiot.’ Bruce laughed back instead. ‘We’re both idiots.’

‘Speak for yourself’ Clark smirked, sensing no hostility in the last comment.

‘Ten minutes till the end of the gala. Mannheim must be giving the closing speech now.’ Bruce uttered with a quick glance at his time piece as though he hadn’t just been tearing hysterically at some inside joke Clark wasn’t in on. ‘Think you could make yourself useful and find us a way out of here?’

‘You’re insane, Wayne. Bat shit crazy.’

‘You have no idea.’

‘Let me check the door, if they’re um… any guards.’ Even if his super hearing told him there were no guards except at the only entry and exit at the top of the stairs.

‘Cool. You do that.’ The billionaire breezily replied and made himself comfortable on top of the table.

It wasn’t really that hard. Clark pretended to knock at the door with his right hand while simultaneously using super strength in his left hand to bend through the metal and break the door hinge at the outside of the door. The broad expanse of his back was turned towards Bruce so he slowly smoothed the metallic surface back in place after. It was rather rustic looking but there’s hoping Bruce wouldn’t pay close attention. All that mattered was that the door was open. Clark stood half a foot back and pretended to continuously dramatically bang at the door. It slowly swung back to reveal freedom.

‘Bruce would you come look at this! The door! It’s open!!! ‘Clark exclaimed.

‘Hm…guess they forgot to lock it.’ The billionaire easily smiled at a very shifty Clark who looked like he couldn’t believe the words from Bruce’s mouth.

‘Y-yeah. That must be it. Or the door is faulty?’

‘Let’s get out of here.’

There were two active guards at the staircase so they used the air vent in one of the corridors to maneuver through to the-

‘Rooftop. Great. I could call my helicopter to come pick us. The gala’s done anyway. Why are you staring at me like that?’

‘Sorry. I still think you’re a spy.’

‘Sorry to disappoint you.’ Bruce said, pulling out a mobile phone and furiously texting. Clark knew he’d have to talk to the man again. There were so many un-ironed intricacies between them now.

‘I want an interview!’ Clark blurted. ‘With you, like an official one; about your standing with Mannheim. Especially now that he more or less kidnapped you.’

‘You seem to be forgetting that I broke in’

‘Oh so _now_ you admit you broke in.’

‘No witness. No crime.’ Bruce winked and went back to his cellular device.

‘So can I have it? The interview?’

‘Only if I get to read the final draft before it is published.’

‘I’m not actually writing an article on this. Atleast not yet anyway. I just nee-want to talk to you.’

Bruce actually paused his furious texting at this and gave Clark a look that was almost pity.

‘For professional purposes of course!’

‘You’re exactly the same aren’t you?’ Bruce quietly mummered to himself. A statement Clark was only able to pick up on because super hearing. However ominous and confusing it was, he was therefore in no position to comment.

‘Well….can I?’

‘I’ll have something arranged.’

Which wasn’t the answer Clark was looking for but it’s the one he got and so he took it with a gracious nod.

Just then the calm was broken by a loud gun-shot coming from the below the roof access trap door that led up, harmonized with sounds of thundering footsteps.

‘I think they’ve found out we’re missing.’ Clark paled.

Indeed the trap door jerked and vibrated with pressure from being hit from below.

‘Chopper isn’t here yet…well this is interesting.’

The steel door wouldn’t budge because of the metallic latch pressed across it. No amount of regular human force was going to force that open. Which is why the guards below begun to shoot at the sides of the square panel separating them from the two escapees. If they indeed got through, chances were Clark and Bruce were screwed. Clark had no choice.

‘Mr. Wayne I have a confession but you have to swear on your life that you won’t reveal it. I mean it. On your life.’

‘I know it looks like we’re gonna die or whatever I’m hardly the right person to-‘

‘Wayne!’

‘Fine. On my life.’ He said, and added with a smirk and I lazy two finger salute ‘Scout’s honor.’

That’s when Clark sighed, rolled his eyes and wrapped his arms around Bruce Wayne before throwing the both of them off the edge of the building they were already teetering. They were falling and then in a split second, they weren’t; because gravity be damned.

 

 

_‘There’s no one up here on the roof you idiot!’_

_‘No Mr. Mannheim sir, I swear…they were in the room and then. And then-’_

_‘SHUT UP!’_

Clark landed them gently in a dark alley a few blocks south. Bruce Wayne was shivering slightly but otherwise, completely and utterly un-phased. He clung on desperately to the lapels of Clark’s cheap suit however, even when Clark unwrapped his arms from round him. It was only when the bespectacled man cleared his throat rather harshly that Bruce seemed to remember himself and let go. What he said next wasn’t what Clark expected. But then again neither was Bruce Thomas Wayne Jr.

‘So what’s the secret?’

Clark actually face palmed at that one.

‘You’re really something you know that?!’

‘ _That_ was the big secret? Pssh. Tell me something I don’t know.’

‘I can’t believe this.’ Clark laughed incredulously. So much for actions speaking louder than words. Bruce Wayne needed a panel by panel Crayola illustration. ‘I simply can’t…I…wow. Just.’

‘You know I’m joking right.’ Bruce placed his hands to the sides of Clarks face, just slightly below his temples and grasped the sides of his frames. ‘-Superman.’

Bruce’s hold just remained there, his gaze imploringly seeking permission that Clark subliminally granted with a barely visible nod of his head. So Bruce took the spects off.

‘Wow.’ He gently turned the non-prescription glasses over in his hand, raising them to his eyes and peering at Clark- _at Superman_ \- through them in a completely different light.

‘Superman works for me.’ He giggled childishly.

‘I suppose he does.’ Clark admonished with a sigh. ‘So?’

‘So what?’

‘Promise not to tell a living breathing soul?’

‘Geez even _I’m_ not that stupid. I don’t want you to kill me.’

Clark wanted to say that after Zod, he’d never _ever_ take another life but if that’s what Brucie was riding on to keep his trap shut, then okay.

‘Also I kinda want to keep you for myself.’ Bruce waved a hand dismissively.

‘Clever man.’ Clark smirked.

‘Oh you flatter me so.’ Bruce replied, casting his eyes downwards. ‘But you’re not the only one with secrets, Clark.’

Clark watched as Bruce nervously seemed to shuffle on the spot. Before Clark knew it he was stepping closer to the man.

‘Everyone has secrets, Bruce. I think you can trust me.’

And Bruce laughed at that. It wasn’t as high pitched and vapid as the laughs he gave in public. He had a beautiful laugh but Clark could tell he didn’t use it much.

‘Well?’

In the distance the choppy sound of helicopter flight came into range, drawing close by the second.

Bruce whipped out his phone and texted for a few.

‘That would be my ride.’ He said as he made to pull away but Clark grabbed him by the wrist.

‘Bruce, what’s your secret. Let me help you.’

Bruce smiled and leaned in. Continued leaning in until there was a millimeter of breath between Clark and him. He softly pressed his lips against Clark’s, a choked sound escaping his throat as he did. It was a chaste simple motion, and Clark could tell they both wanted to reach for more, but knew it unwise. So Clark stood still and let Bruce Wayne try to transmit his sentiment through a peck.

‘I enjoyed kissing you more than I’d care to admit.’ The billionaire cocked his head as he stood back. This time Clark let him go. Let him turn and walk down the rest if the alley and begin to walk away. He paused but once, not even turning to look at Clark the whole time he spoke.

‘Promise me you won’t be theatrically angry.’

‘About what? Why? What are you going to do?!’ _Give me some answers dammit!_

‘Just, promise.’

‘If no one innocent is hurt.’

‘And those who are guilty?’ Bruce laughed. He sounded like he was half joking. Which also meant he was half serious.

‘Just TELL me what you’re hiding.’

‘I’m a hypocrite.’

‘If you’re waiting for me to contradict you then it’s going to be a _long_ night Mr. Wayne.’

‘Goodnight, Superman.’ He voiced with a tone that reeked finality and walked off. Clark listened in until the sound of Bruce’s heartbeat was shrouded by the rattling of the choppers wings disrupting the air.

He had no idea what the fuck had just happened.

 

***

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

‘Where were you the whole of Saturday night? Jimmy and I waited at the rendezvous point till we gave up and went to our hotel rooms. I wanted to call but I figured you were…busy so yeah, but an “I’m fine Lois” text would have been nice, even if it was in the middle of the night!’

Clark understood that she was merely erratic because she was worried for him but that wasn’t the kind of hoopla he was prepared for at eight in the am.

‘I’m fine, Lois.’

‘Well now I don’t care!’ She huffed followed by a sigh that meant what she’d said wasn’t true. She cared for him deeply.

‘I probably deserve that.’ The mild mannered reporter chuckled as he organized his desk.

‘KENT!’ Perry boomed as he approached Clark. Lois made a terrified expression before wincing on Clark’s behalf and backing away with a re-assuring thumbs up.

‘Heya Perry!’ Clark grinned. He was sure he hadn’t done anything worth a scolding. He tried his best to be inconsistently sloppy when handling assignments. Just the usual klutzes here and there; but never a complete write-off (no pun intended)

‘Clark my boy I don’t know what kind of strings you pulled at that gala but I’m impressed.’

Indeed Perry White was beaming as he handed Clark a silver embossed envelope and patted him on the back. Before Clark could even ask what it was, his boss answered him.

‘It’s an invite for an exclusive with Bruce Wayne!’

Clark could subtly feel the eyes of everyone else in the office angling to view him. Lois’ in particular, he could feel boring through him.

‘I didn’t think he was serious.’ Clark said, genuinely amazed. He allowed a little tremor to seep into his voice and his hands to shake as well as he took in the envelope before him. His names were embossed in delicate cursive writing that tapered off into a rose. Well then.

‘Well there you go! The details are inside and there’s a personal letter as well. Don’t screw this one up, son.’

Clark nervously swallowed.

Lois was leaning against his desk before Perry had even properly left.

‘I guess that answers that question.’

‘What question?’

‘Where you were last night? Lois said, nodding at the frankly unnecessarily fancy envelope.

‘Lois it’s not like that.’

‘Like what? Shit. Clark! I’m not _actually_ suggesting you slept with the man. Okay now I am. But only because I love messing with you. Oh my God you’re blushing! Ngngngn.  I’m sooooo jealous! _Did_ you sleep with playboy millionaire Bruce Wayne? Honestly, I wouldn’t blame you-‘

Lois cut off when she noticed Clark’s glare.

‘A joke. Smallville. You heard of those?’

‘I know, Lois…I’m just a bit, knackered is all.’

‘There, there. Lunch is on me, kay? I have this report on the Afghastani raid I’ve got to finish up then I’ll have plenty of time to pester you.’

‘I hope you never finish that report.’ Clark laughed, sliding the envelope in his desk drawer.

‘But you know me, Kent. I always finish.’ She replied with a wink, her lovely face beaming with laughter as she stood up straight.

‘Guess I’m not his favorite employee anymore.’ She added with a sigh before exiting.

Clark honestly had no idea how to feel about the whole… situation. He’d gone all tetchy and glared at Lois just because she’d suggested him sleeping with Bruce. Because he’d actually been thinking of the kiss (es). That glare had been meant for himself. Its alias was guilt; because not once in the times he kissed Bruce, did he think of Lois.

It was just a …phase! He decided with a sigh. Bruce Wayne was like an overpowering scent that just wouldn’t _leave_ him, for now. Not that he minded particularly. Clark decided he’d read the invite as well as the personal letter and then spend the rest of his morning thinking about how beautiful and amazing Lois was.

Spoiler Alert: That isn’t what he did.

_Good Morning, Clark_

_It is my assumption that you will in fact receive this in the morning. If not, good (insert time of day) to you. Enveloped along with this is an invite for the interview exclusive you requested. You may ask me anything you please for an article, however all information on the matter concerning my dealings with Mannheim are to remain strictly on personal basis. I trust you on that regard and I will try (and probably fail) to be as honest with you as possible. You are welcome to my office any time you feel up to do the interviews however I am unavailable for evening and night appointments. I look forward to our interaction and would like to extend my most heart-felt appreciation for saving me from that little scuffle on Saturday. You were simply…heroic. Have a **Super** Day._

_Best Regards_

_BRUCE WAYNE_

_CEO WAYNE ENTERPRISES_

Bruce Wayne had a sick sense of humor, if at all.

**Author's Note:**

> This clusterfuckery is painfully un-beta'd. All mistakes and stupidity are mine. But please be kind. Kudos' and comments give the author a will to live and actually continue the sequel.


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